Ezekiel 25:17
by Blind Willie McTell
Summary: The stage is set: HHH against HBK for the dual belts - World Heavyweight and World Championship. Both men have a little assistance planned, but The Game gets an extra push from a third party - sparking one of the odder storylines in creation.
1. Smackdown! The Newer World Order

"SHIT! What the hell was that?"

As one, every single inhabitant of the locker-room jerked around to stare at Dave Batista, who in turn was staring intently at the busted television screen in front of him. The cause for the commotion was the fact that some sort of explosion had just taken place in the general direction of the teevee, which was immediately noticeable by the trail of smoke rising from the middle of the large hole in the screen. Batista, in fact, seemed to be the only one who was maintaining some sort of calmness about the incident.

"Well? What the hell was it, Batista?" The speaker was the widely acknowledged leader of the locker-room, Hunter Hearst Helmsley; known to the masses as either Triple H or The Game. Despite being shorter than a few of the other men in the room, his accomplishments in the ring had vaulted him to the top of the stable. His current accomplishments, in fact, were hanging off a shelf on the far wall of the locker-room: he was the first wrestler to hold both the World Heavyweight Championship and the World Championship since the brand split back in 2001.

"None of you were listening, were you? None of you heard what Shawn just said." Batista was one of the men in the room that would make you think twice about going down that ramp. A six-foot five-inch solid wall of muscle, the now almost-demonic entertainer had once been the Deacon Batista – the enforcer of the 'Word'. Now he was the United States champion, and an imposing one at that. There wasn't a wrestler outside the nWo rooms that would rush into a match with him.

"Course not, Dave. We were busy trying to relax before tonight and forget about the little boy. After all, some of us have titles that are worth defending, ain't that right Raven?" This time it was the Road Dogg who spoke. He was one-half of the world tag-team champions, and generally regarded his title as something second only to the two World belts. After all, all the other belts (European, Intercontinental, United States and Cruiserweight) had only been invented to keep the mid-card wrestlers from bawling about their lack of opportunity.

"That's damn right, Jesse!" Raven grinned, reaching into the icebox beside him and pulling out a bottle of beer. The brown-haired Jester was the other half of the world-beating tag team, and with the Evenflow DDT, he probably could have made it on his own if he wanted to. It was just that with the current state of things, going for any title other than the Cruiserweight would mean risking the nWo's alliance. "Now, before JayJay interrupted you, what were you going to say, Dave?"

"Well, I really don't feel like sharing it with people who can't get a belt on their own... So Hunter, Hall, Nash, and all the rest of you with some degree of talent... The man wants a title shot. And not at me or Hall. He's going for the double gold." Batista stood up from the leather couch, taking a few steps on sneaker-covered feet to lean on a counter on the wall that, on the other side, formed the back of the best skybox in the stadium. "And the annoying thing is, Vince can't do a damn thing about it. This isn't his show. This is Shane's show."

"That isn't worth busting the teevee for, Dave. D'you know how much those things cost, if you're willing to pay for something above the level of crap all the people outside use?" Hunter shook his head, not to signify disappointment in his stable-mate, but to settle his light-brown hair behind his shoulders. After all, if it fell forwards, it gave off the impression that the dual champion's black tank top didn't have any straps and was being held up by sheer unwillingness to touch the ground. "Not that we can't afford it, but still."

"I didn't bust the teevee, Hunter. It just blew up. Something stuffed up in the wall." Batista grinned, his pointed chin even more accented by the short black goatee he sported to match his close-cropped dark hair. "Anyway, we've all heard your crap about how much you earn with those two hunks of junk on either arm. _This_ is where all the money is, my friends." He stretched a well-toned arm out to grab his own belt – a black leather strap with three gold plates on it. The middle plate was decorated by the US flag and a name plate that simply said 'Batista', who was also the man with the belt over one huge shoulder.

The remark was met by general scorn, even by the strapless X-Pac, who had lost his Cruiserweight belt in a bout a few weeks ago against Rey Rey. The short, longhaired man had been caught by a 619 straight to the face, which was usually enough to end anyone's hopes of winning a match. Well, it was half of hope lost. The other half came from the Drop of the Dime.

"No-one wants your belt, Batista. You haven't defended for weeks. Whereas me... Well, you saw what just happened. Next week it'll probably be me and Shawn for these babies, and we all know how that's going to turn out, don't we boys?" The last part of the comment was aimed towards the two men on the other side of the wall, looking out of the skybox – Kevin Nash and Scott Hall, otherwise known as the Outsiders. They were usually the ones who made sure everything in the Federation ran like a well-oiled machine... or at least a well-oiled machine that was turned on, operated, and maintained by the New World Order. They competed in the occasional tag match, but nothing much ever happened. After all, they couldn't take the tag belts away from the New Age Outlaws.

"Yeah, we do, Hunter." Nash's voice came through the doorway, the seven-foot tall giant's frame resting on yet another leather couch, this one facing out through the glass barricade, towards the ring. Next to the long-haired Big Daddy Cool rested his companion, Scott Hall – a black-haired man with stubble issues who stood in the taller half of five foot. "Anyway, you guys going to come watch this? We have... hey, according to this, it's Scotty 2 Hotty against... Hey, it's a Hardy boy..."


	2. Smackdown! Too Cool or 2Xtreme?

The loud, rising guitar tunes of the Hardy Boyz' music filled the arena, the huge video screen above the entranceway showing the familiar swinging necklaces that signalled the coming of both Matt and Jeff Hardy – even in singles competition they accompanied each other to the ring, mainly for protection. Sure enough, there came the two brothers out into onto the ramp, where they stopped and struck the poses that had made them famous.

Jeff Hardy, considered by many fans to be the more admirable brother, was clothed in his usual ring attire – pants, wrestling boots that looked like spats, and a singlet shirt. As the heavy bass beat of his theme music kicked in, he ran down the ramp alongside his brother and slid into the squared circle, jumping to the turnbuckle to once again strike his three-fingered pose, whipping the crowd into a frenzy.

Soon their music faded, to be replaced by the much lighter-hearted theme of Too Cool – now reduced to the tag team of Rikishi and Scotty. As most of the crowd had expected, the bleach-blonde cruiserweight was followed out onto the platform by his sumo-like dark-skinned partner Rikishi, who hadn't bothered to get into his ring attire and was dressed in street clothes. As they made their way down the ramp, Scotty ran along the sides of the entranceway, slapping the hands of screaming fans, while Rikishi made his slow way down the centre before stopping at ringside.

His partner, meanwhile, was halfway through his dancing routine when he was hit from behind by Jeff Hardy. As the referee called for the bell to begin the match, Hardy continued the beat-down on his opponent, only stopping for a rest after a high-flipping dropkick knocked Scotty off his feet. Climbing to the top rope of the opposite turnbuckle Jeff crouched and waited for Scotty to stand up, a missile dropkick surely the only thing that could happen after Jeff launched himself from the ropes...

And missed. Scotty had rolled to his right as Jeff went legs-first towards him, leaving the Hardy boy holding his back from the painful fall. Although Scotty was still reeling from the beat-down, he knew enough to realise that he now had the upper hand and pulled Jeff to his feet, although still leaving him bent over double. Wrapping his right arm around Jeff's neck, he looked up to the crowd, grinned, slapped Jeff on the back and fell backwards, driving the top of Hardy's head into the trampoline-like mat.

Scotty bounced up immediately, adrenaline pumping as he turned to look down at Jeff, who had not moved since the DDT – and was now lying perpendicular to the turnbuckle. Sensing an opportunity, the smaller member of Too Cool (well, let's face it, apart from Nash, anyone would be the smaller member of Too Cool) ran to the corner and jumped onto the top rope, turning around half-way as his hands supported his vault. He stood, raising a hand to acknowledge the crowd before leaping off the corner, landing in a sitting position with one leg across Jeff's neck – a picture-perfect leg-drop.

One three-count later, it was all over. Scotty was told later that Matt Hardy had tried to push him off the top rope when the referee wasn't looking but had been taken care of by a clothesline from Rikishi, who had then proceeded to simply sit on him until the match was over.


	3. Smackdown! Legdrops and Liars

"Well, credit where credit's due - that was a fairly good comeback." Back in the skybox, Hall had twisted the top off a beer for himself and was relaxing on the couch opposite X-Pac. "You think he could pull something like that off on you?"

"No way, man. I'm not like the Hardyz – I know what I'm doing." X-Pac's hair was hanging behind his neck, the tip just touching the start of his nWo t-shirt – the New World Order knew where the money was to be made: merchandising. "Anyway, he wouldn't be able to do something like that to me – it's a leg drop, for crying out loud. Hogan was doing those back in '95, and nothing's changed. It's still a move for washed-up guys who should've retired a while back."

The rest of the room laughed, nodding and grinning. Even though Hollywood Hulk Hogan had been one of the pioneers of the nWo, everyone in the wrestling world agreed on one thing – he and Ric Flair should have retired before they started needing jobbers to get themselves over with the fans. Hell, Ric Flair had been reduced to bringing in wrestlers from Ohio Valley Wrestling before he had finally been convinced to give up the job and settle into a nice nursing home.

"A toast to X-Pac - he's pretty smart for someone who hasn't felt gold around his waist for far too long." Nash grinned, taking his beer glass from the counter next to him and raising it, stretching his arm upwards and outwards towards the rest of the group. The remainder of the stable grinned and echoed his sentiments, clinking their glasses together before finishing off their drinks.

Putting his bottle back down on the table in front of him, Hunter looked up at the rest of the room. "Well then, lads. Is it really worth waiting around to see Mark come back from the dead once again?" Mark Callaway, otherwise known as the Undertaker, had a habit of dying in matches and then coming back to feud with whoever had done it to him. The latest opponent was his second half-brother of the decade, otherwise known as Abel – Kane had been defeated in the third Inferno match in history. "Or shall we just take a ride out now and see if we can get some sleep before Monday?"

SmackDown!, Shane McMahon's show, was on Thursdays. RAW, Vince McMahon's show, was on Mondays. Ever since HHH had gained both championships, he'd been able to pull some strings with The Boss and get the nWo slots on both shows – meaning that they could exercise something close to total control with the matches they had certain things riding on, unless they could pull some tighter strings and call the matches off altogether. A few weeks later, however, Shane had made his show open to all superstars anyway.

"Nah, s'not worth it. We can come back in a month and see him do it again." Hall grinned, standing and brushing some invisible dirt off his arm before looking around at the members of the stable. "Anyway, I got plans. Don't know about the rest of you – you're probably all going to spend some valuable quality time with your belts, I should imagine... apart from X-Pac, of course, he's just going to go straight to sleep."

The skybox laughed, all the inhabitants grabbing their 'valuables' and filing out the door before Hunter flicked the switch to cast it into shadow, grinning in confident expectations of his upcoming match next Wednesday against Shawn Michaels. It wasn't like anything else was going to happen tonight.


	4. Smackdown! Damage Reduction

The match between the Dead Man and Abel had been going for five minutes when the lights in the arena dimmed, both competitors turning their attention from each other to the TitanTron, where any good entertainee would expect to see something happen after a "black-out". They were rewarded.

"I think I'm cute..."

The crowd went wild as the Heart Break Kid, Shawn Michaels, came out in the spots of light that were gyrating around the ramp and in the ring - especially on the two nonplussed half-brothers, who were watching Shawn with the sort of expression that suggested a fair deal of pain if he even tried to touch either one of them. HBK, however, was oblivious to both of them, dancing down the ramp to his music ("I got the walk – I got the talk") and slapping hands with the crowd, who were clamouring to the guardrails in an attempt to touch the legend.

When he finally reached ringside, however, he didn't slide into the ring. Instead he walked around the side, grabbing a microphone from one of the assistants by the announcer's table and looking up at the two competitors before climbing onto the apron. The brothers inside raised their hands, taking a few steps backwards to let him know that they'd at least let him in the ring before they tried to destroy him for stopping their match.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know... I shouldn't have come out here and interfered in your match." Instead of directing his words to the brothers, Shawn spoke into the microphone, letting the crowd listen in to the conversation. The two brothers didn't seem to care too much about what he was saying, anyway. "But, I have a favour to ask."

That caught the brothers (and the crowd) off-guard. The Undertaker and Abel looked at each other uncertainly before turning back to Shawn, who was grinning and chewing some gum carelessly.

"Yeah, a favour. You see, there's a certain match going on next week that I have a fair amount of interest in... Hell, what am I saying, if I win, I rule this damn show!" His grin widened as the crowd cheered – as much as they appreciated the talents of the nWo, no-one in the crowd would cheer for the world's biggest heels against a face like Shawn. "So... Seeing as how we all know what's going to happen to me if things stay the way they are," the crowd gave off a mixture of cheering and booing at this comment, "I'd like some protection against a certain team. Now, now, I know I could just hire the A.P.A, but..." the crowd cheered again: the A.P.A, or Acolyte Protection Agency, was a muscle-for-hire business for WWF stars. "Let's face it: 'Taker, you're the one who brought them into business."

The Undertaker grinned, running a gloved hand through his black hair before stroking his short beard thoughtfully. Back in the '90s, in his days as the true Dead Man, he'd had a Ministry of Darkness who had pretty much covered his matches. Then, it had just been Farooq and Bradshaw (the two A.P.A members), and then it had just been him against the heels on the Smackdown! roster.

"So, what do you say? You guys feel like a bit of action on Raw?" Shawn grinned, eyes flicking up to the deserted nWo box. "Well?"


	5. RAW Playing The Game

"Now, Shawn, I don't want you to think I'm _afraid_ of fighting you or anything. I'm just giving you an opportunity to back out of this fight and keep whatever dignity you have left." The current dual World Champion, Triple H, was in the ring and on the mic, flanked by the Road Dogg and Raven, who were both grinning in the way that would make Shawn think four times about getting into that very ring. "If you don't want to quit, I understand. Just don't go running to Shane complaining that it was an... unfair fight." All three nWo members in the ring grinned smugly, the Tag Champions nodding along with Triple H. "Well? How about it?"

Instead of any music playing, Shawn's face appeared up on the TitanTron, grinning down at the trio in the ring with teeth as big as their upper bodies, and a brown ponytail that could have swallowed Rikishi whole. He knew not to take any chances with the nWo – after all, there were only three of them in the ring, and from his days in Degeneration-X he knew that you should never trust them if you couldn't see their faces. "Well, Hunter, that sounds like a great idea. Just give up my shot at the titles and walk away, leaving you there, still the 'most dominant champion ever'. That would be a great idea, if it weren't for the fact that it leaves me with no gold around my shoulders."

JJ and Raven laughed, looking at Hunter for his reaction. Hunter, tank top clinging tight to well-toned muscles, simply laughed along with them. "Why, Shawn, I never knew you to be so observant. However, I feel that it's my duty as dual champion to tell you one thing... That it's the damn point for you to walk out without my gold on your shoulders. Even if you _do_ go ahead with the match, it's not like you're going to win. After all, I am the Game – and that's because I'm that damn good."

The huge image of Shawn grinned then laughed right back at the champion, pulling his ponytail back. "You're the game – so what? This isn't a game, Hunter. This is life. This is a goddamn TV show. And all of us here-" the crowd cheered, "-know that I am the ShowSTOPPER, Mr. Monday Night HIMSELF!" The crowd cheered even louder, elated that their hero had scored a point over the nWo, even if it wasn't a very physical one. "And just so you know, Haitch... I'm not going to be the one complaining of an unfair match." The image of Shawn flicked off the screen to be replaced by a shot of the nWo looking angry and slightly confused.

"What does that mean, Shawn? SHAWN? GET YOUR ASS DOWN INTO THIS RING!" Hunter threw the mic onto the mat, climbing out of the ring and stalking up the ramp to try and hunt down HBK. Raven and Road Dogg, left standing in the ring in pants and their nWo shirts, looked at each and shrugged before grabbing their belts and Hunter's and running after him backstage.


	6. RAW Four Man Beer Match

Back up in the nWo skybox, Hall and Nash were alternating between glancing at the teevee and talking to each other about what had just happened (Batista and X-Pac had run out to try and find where their comrades had gone, albeit somewhat half-heartedly). They'd managed to agree that it didn't exactly sound too good for their leader, and were busy debating over which one of them should get the beer and who Shawn had employed to help him out later on.

"I say it's gotta be the A.P.A, man. Who else is readily available to try and take us on? As long as they get paid, they're willing to try and fend us off for a little while. And anyway, I got the beer last time. You can get it." Nash relaxed further back into the couch, shrugging and watching Hunter run around backstage, knocking over various equipment managers and mid-card wrestlers. "Anyway, Bradshaw has something against us after that match with you went awry, remember?"

Hall grinned as he remembered the run-in, replaying the beat-down in his mind before responding to his partner. "Yeah, but they're not stupid. That money could barely cover the hospital bill they'd get if they made Haitch lose the title. I say it's gotta be some other tag team. The Bashams, maybe? And you didn't get it last time, I did. Remember, I had to turn around because Shawn said something and I spilt the beer?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't count because I ended up getting the bottles that we actually drank from, remember? And the Bashams wouldn't try it. They're happy with what they're doing now, even if they're not the champs. I still say that it's the A.P.A." Nash watched the camera switch to the ring where Jeff Hardy was waiting for his rematch against Scotty, jumping around the ring and doing some basic stretches while the viewing public was busy enduring one of the show's frequent ad breaks. RAW being a live show made it a bit more exciting than Smackdown!, but meant that superstars had to wait a while between matches.

"Yeah, whatever. Look, I'll get the beers, but I'm writing down that I got the--- what the hell are you guys doing in here?" Hall looked up at Raven and Jesse James, who had just burst in through the door that opened out onto the main backstage area of the arena. "Weren't you guys following Hunter? And on that, what actually happened?" While asking the questions he stood up, grabbing two bottles of beer and tossing one to the other Outsider.

"Yeah, well, he sent us back. He said to tell you that if you see anyone moving around backstage during his match, you're going to have to stop them and keep them from going anywhere near the ring, the crowd, anywhere." Raven's long hair was hanging around his face from the run into the room, so as he began his next sentence he pulled it back with his left hand while pulling a beer with his right. "As for what happened, well... Nothing much. We just ran backstage, ran around for a little, didn't find anything, and just ended up back here. We ran into Dave and Ex a little while ago, they're going to hang around the dressing-rooms."

"Which I think is just an excuse for Ex to pretend to do something for the group while involving the dressing rooms in it, but I wasn't going to say anything to Hunter." Jesse James grinned, pulling up a beer for himself and dropping into a couch opposite the Outsiders'. "You know, I think he's actually frightened of what's going to happen tonight. I can't really blame him – you know, someone laid out the A.P.A?"

Hall laughed, punching Nash on the arm. "Score one Hall, man. But still, JayJay... Someone laid out the A.P.A? Doesn't that make you the slightest bit concerned that someone's getting rid of interference? ...wait. What the hell am I talking about? Who cares?" He took a sip of his bottle before placing the beer on a coaster that was on the table in front of him, looking up at the teevee. "Hey, what d'you know, Hardy actually managed to get a win in on Scotty... Wait, no, there goes Rikishi. Stuff that idea."

Nash grinned and put his feet up next to Hall's beer, resting his head back onto the back of the couch, ready for a hard half-hour's leisure time. "You know, Haitch's match isn't for a while, and we have a few beers left... Who here's up for a bit of a match?" The room echoed with the cheers of the attending nWo members, then the clinking of their beer bottles as they toasted themselves and everyone who'd ever lost to them.

Who cared about some title when there was beer on hand?


	7. RAW Blunt, Heavy Justice

The heavy guitar chords of Triple H's theme music blared from the speakers around the arena, dividing the crowds between cheering from a great wrestler and booing one of the most perfect heels that the business had seen in a long while. His video, a clip show of his famed finisher the 'Pedigree', played from the TitanTron before the broad-shouldered form of the dual champion walked into the entranceway, neck bent as he looked at the ground in a scowl.

The dual champion barely even acknowledged the crowd's reaction to him, focussing on the ring as he walked down the ramp. It only took him a minute or so and soon he was standing on the apron and leaning on the ring cables, finally looking up at the paying audience. He lifted his water bottle to his mouth before throwing it to the people in the first row, who either jumped for the bottle or ducked from the water coming out. Back on the apron the champ was looking at the floor, then up at the crowd in front of him, then raising his arms and spitting out a clear mist, letting the water settle over his body before climbing into the ring and waiting for his opponent.

The loud, thumping beat of HBK's theme emanated from the speakers placed around the stadium, making the crowd scream and shout for the Heart Break Kid. Almost obligingly he strutted out, dancing down the entryway as he always did. Slapping a few more hands from the crowd before sliding into the ring, Shawn Michaels looked at Triple H before spinning around and posing in the ring, his pyrotechnics flaring from tubes duct-taped to the ring behind him. After a few seconds he stood and stripped off his decorative gear, leaving himself clothed in his wrestling tights and boots and facing the dual champion.

The bell rang.

The two competitors circled the ring, looking at each other, waiting for an opening. Each knew the other all too well after their years of companionship, and you could tell by their eyes that each wasn't just concerned about the person in the ring with them. Shawn knew what was coming for him. The dual champ didn't, and neither did the crowd, who were near-silent with expectancy of a match that could be great if no-one interfered.

Soon they locked up, Shawn winning the grapple and placing Hunter in a headlock before being pushed into the ring cables that he rebounded off and ran shoulder-first into the dual champ, knocking him down. Shawn turned to the side, running to another set of ring ropes and jumping over Hunter, who was just getting up, before bouncing off the other side and running back to Helmsley, who used HBK's momentum to pick him up, one hand on his back and one hand on his legs, then spin around and slam him spine-first into the mat. The crowd booed, but HHH stood up and shook his head as if trying to get his brain connected to his head again, then walked off and rested on the turnbuckle as he waited for Shawn to get up.

He didn't want Shawn to get the clear advantage, but he didn't want to get the advantage either, for near-obvious reasons. As the thoughts about who could come out ran through his head he ran towards Shawn and clotheslined him, knocking him back onto the canvas from which he'd just been getting up. Another clothesline followed, then another, then another, before Shawn ducked the fifth and locked his arms around Hunter's waist, throwing the champ back over Shawn's head, back-first into the mat in a German suplex. A little groggy from the clotheslines, Shawn ran to the turnbuckle, looking to get the match over with quickly. He slapped the top of his right leg before stomping on the mat, sending the crowd wild.

The band was tuning up, and Sweet Chin Music was the song they'd be playing.

The crowd clapped along with his stomps, which sped up as HHH stood and slowly turned around towards Shawn. HBK took two side steps towards Hunter then raised his boot, aiming to hit him directly under the chin. The problem was that he'd hit someone else's chin. The referee's.

Almost as soon as the ref's back hit the mat Road Dogg and Raven ran out with chairs, aiming to knock Shawn out, because Triple H was lying on the mat and trying to raise the strength to get up – Shawn had misjudged the German suplex for his own good, landing Haitch on his head instead of his back. Before the two nWo members could hit the ring, however, a gong sounded and the arena went black. Both JayJay and Raven stopped and stared at each other while Shawn grinned expectantly. No-one would try going up against these two when they were together.

"Dead Man Walking..."

The crowd screamed as the sledgehammer-holding Undertaker and his half-brother ran out towards Dogg and Raven, who were busy trying to get the hell out of Dodge. They failed, and got slammed over the head with cold metal for their troubles. Instead of simply dropping the sledgehammers and punching their opponents into submission, however, the new Brothers of Destruction repeatedly attacked the nWo with their weapons, almost certainly breaking ribs. Triple H just stood, gaping at what was happening, while Shawn rested on the turnbuckle and alternated between looking at Haitch and looking at his protection. He didn't even have to worry about Hunter. The Brothers would do it for him.

The two behemoths turned their gazes towards Hunter, whose mouth opened in realization as he put his hands up towards them as if he could fend them off single-handedly. 'Taker and Abel could not have cared less as they advanced upon him, weapons raised. Both were grinning, if not maniacally than in happy expectation of a good beating on somebody who woul-- no, _couldn't_ fight back afterwards. However, both forgot the cardinal rule of sports entertainment: always watch your back.

Someone in a black hooded jumper climbed over the guardrail, grabbing a chair from beside the announcer's table before sliding into the ring and standing behind the Brothers, sizing up a shot. He hit true, slamming Abel's spine with the painted-blue steel and sending the larger brother to his knees before turning his attention to the Undertaker, who had barely turned around before he got a chair into the face for his troubles. The stranger turned back to Abel and laid into him with the chair before slamming the Undertaker a few more times, but he never forgot the rule of wrestling.

Under the pretence of hitting the Undertaker one more time, he dropped the chair and picked up one of the two sledgehammers of the Brothers, turning around and swinging it – into the oncoming form of Shawn Michaels. The Heart Break Kid instantly bent over double, holding his stomach and gasping for breath to replace that which had been knocked out of his lungs by the sledgehammer shot.

The hooded stranger looked at the now-dumbfounded Hunter, sliding the sledgehammer underneath the ropes before flashing a thumbs-up at the dual champion and sliding back out of the ring, pausing only to poke the referee in the ribs with his sneakers in an effort to wake to poor man up. Hunter, meanwhile, pulled Shawn into the middle of the ring, and slumped over him in an effort to appear hurt. The ref, who was just on his feet, had no idea of what had happened (the Brothers had rolled out of the ring) and slapped his hand on the canvas.

1...

2...

3.


	8. RAW Payment Due

"What the hell was THAT?" Nash was staring at the TV screen, unable to believe what had just happened in front of him. The fact that he and Hall had been meant to stop anyone going out had temporarily escaped their minds, and they were busy trying to figure out what had just happened. "That was the... brothers, wasn't it? What the hell were they doing out there?"

Hall was equally as confused, although about slightly different things. "Shawn must've asked them after we left last week... But who the hell was that that laid them and Shawn out? Hunter owes him big, now." He took another sip of the beer bottle in his hand, looking at his tag partner now that the show had officially ended for the night. "You reckon he's going to cash in?"

"Of course he's going to cash in. This is the Federation, man. The question is... what title is he going to go for?" Nash, of course, was thinking purely practically, knowing that anybody who did anything for the nWo was only ever going to request a shot at some form of gold. Hell, there wasn't any point in trying for anything else.

"Not Hunter's, that's for sure. He knows that he'd just get laid out... He wouldn't go for Dave's, because _no-one _would go against Dave – he's too big... The same goes for you, really. That just leaves..." Hall stopped, sighing as he came to the realization that he was probably going to be the one paying for the stranger's favour.

"Yep. It just leaves you, man... Don't worry; I'll be watching your back. No way in hell he's going to get a title, just like that." Some of the viewing public were probably thinking that it could've been a crowd member, but people in the business knew that nobody in the crowd could come into ringside, steal a chair and run into the ring without anything happening. Vince must've let someone sit there for some reason...

"Yeah, thanks man. Think we better get out of here now – I've got places to be, things to do... You know the drill." Hall stood up and stretched his arms before walking to the cupboard and picking up his belt. "Later, man."

"Yeah, you too." Nash stood, grabbed his belt and walked out the door after the other Outsider, flicking the lightswitch.

Thursday could be fun.


	9. Smackdown! Mutual Benefits Scheme

"Now, I know you're all wondering about what happened last week. I know that you all want to know just who the hell that was that came out and... yes, I'll admit it, saved my ass from the two big ugly giants backstage." The crowd laughed and booed at Hunter Hearst Helmsley, who was standing in the ring, flanked not by the Tag Team Champions (who were still recovering from their beating) but by the Outsiders, who had their individual belts slung over their shoulders. "And I want to know too. Whoever you were, get out here and name your price."

The champ and his henchmen stood facing the TitanTron, looking up at the giant screen and waiting for some sort of action. The crowd, who up 'til now had been silent, began to murmur among themselves as to who would even dare to try and show up the nWo. Hall and Nash exchanged glances, then both looked at their leader, who was almost getting annoyed. "Come out he--"

"Twenty-five, seventeen..."

No-one had ever heard this music before. The crowd were silent once more, looking up at the video screen for some sort of information as to who this person was while his music played around the arena. Back in the ring the nWo men were just as bewildered as the crowd, changing their footing for whatever came down that ramp. Who knew, maybe he'd just wanted Haitch to win so that he could take the titles off him?

"Well, well, well, well, WELL!" The music faded as a man's voice come out over the speakers, apparently from somewhere backstage. "You instantly expect me to have a price, do you Hunter? You don't even know who I am, and you're willing to do a deal with me, even if it involves yourself?" Hunter nodded, knowing that even though he couldn't see the other half of the conversation he was on camera, and therefore could be seen all around backstage if necessary. "Well then. I guess I better get myself into the ring, shouldn't I?"

The crowd leaned forward over the guardrails, trying to catch a glimpse of the newcomer. After five seconds the lights went blue and a man walked out, only his coated form visible. The silhouette posed in the entryway then slowly made his way down the ramp, taking off his sunglasses and throwing them into the crowd somewhere before he slid into the ring. "Cut the lights and get this place back to normal!" Obediently the floodlights turned back to their normal colour and the ring was its normal self once again, except with everyone staring at the stranger.

At least six and a half feet tall, he had the frame that could make you believe that he could take anyone on and win, even Batista. Even though his long dark hair covered most of his face, they could tell that he wasn't exactly at the extremes of either age. "There. Now, my price, my price... I know my price. You want to know my price, don't you?" The crowd cheered and yelled, and the other three men in the ring nodded and looked expectantly at their companion. "Well then... I figure that for saving you from the Brothers and saving your belts, you owe me pretty big... And I can't think of anything bigger than this." The crowd was suddenly silenced – he was really going for the belts? Seriously? "I want in the New World Order."

The crowd was back on its feet, yelling out their favourite chant of "HOLY SHIT!" while Hall and Nash stared at the stranger and Hunter just stood and thought. "Well, then... I guess we could fit you in somewhere..." Hunter said, leaving the crowd to shut up once again and wonder if the leader of the nWo was having them on. "On one condition."

Ah. There it was. There was always a catch somewhere. The man didn't seem perturbed, however, and just stood in the ring and nodded. "Only one? Sure. What is it?" The stranger shrugged, tucking his hair back behind his ear while he waited for Hunter's response.

"You have to tell us your name." Hunter grinned, chewing his gum smugly. It wasn't much of a condition, sure, but it was a start. The crowd cheered shortly before silencing and waiting for the fourth man's response, eager to learn the name of this newcomer who had so readily made his intentions clear.

The stranger grinned as well, shrugging and then nodding as if to say 'alright, fair cop'. He took his time, however, stroking his chin and looking around at the crowd to stir them up. The noise was slowly building, a tiny snowball that grew and grew until it was a roar of "Asshole! Asshole!" aimed at the stationary man. "Hey, hey, hey, SHUT THE HELL UP!" The man looked around at the crowd angrily, glaring at each and every one of them. "I'll tell you my goddamn name... Ezekiel."

Haitch snorted, looking from side to side at his cronies, smiling smugly, before turning back to Ezekiel. "Alright then... Ezekiel. I guess you're in, but there's always another condition." The crowd cheered by booing – it was about time that Hunter acted like himself. Ezekiel, meanwhile, just nodded. Of course it was coming. It wasn't like he didn't know anything about the nWo. "That condition is a match. Against... Well, against Benoit."

Ezekiel laughed out loud, nodding. Benoit, the Canadian Crippler, was possibly one of the best _wrestlers_ in the business. HBK was one of the greatest entertainers, HHH was one of the best heels, the Undertaker was one of the best fights... But _wrestling_ was one of the hardest things to attain greatness at. "Right. So that's it? I have to win a match against Toothless Aggression? I'll do it later on tonight, if you want me to." The crowd was taken aback for about five seconds before they started cheering, anticipating a great match.

Hunter grinned, nodding as if he appreciated Ezekiel's attitude towards the whole idea. "Yeah, that's it. All we have to do is get Ben---"

Benoit's music, like so many other wrestlers', started with a bang of guitar. It was that guitar that interrupted Hunter halfway through his speech, and it was the person whose name he was trying to say that walked out through the entryway. Benoit was one of the least emotional men on the rosters of either show, and he wasn't about to show it now. "Hunter, you think you can just come out here and set up a match between me and this new guy, without even asking me? You think that you can just order me around like your little butt-lickers on either side of you?"

Hall and Nash looked at each other angrily while Hunter laughed at their expense. "Yeah? D'you have a _problem_ with facing Ezekiel? It's not like you have anything to be afraid of – you've never seen him wrestle!"

"Yeah, but I've seen what he did on RAW, and that's enough to tell me that the man's got balls." Benoit replied, nodding towards Ezekiel, who was simply standing there while two men had a conversation about him. Ezekiel just nodded back and grinned, taking the compliment. "But I'm not scared. I'll take the man on, tonight. End of the night – me versus Ezekiel. If he wins, he gets in the nWo... but if I win, what do I get?"

Hunter laughed, shrugging his shoulders that rather coincidentally held his dual titles. "I don't know. I'm sure we can work something out..." The crowd cheered, raising and waving signs like "A WOLVERINE WITHOUT TEETH?" and "NWO 4 LIFE!". It would be a good match if Benoit won and went on to take on Hunter, that was for sure. If Ezekiel won, then... It would be worth it just to have a new member of the nWo.

Benoit grinned for once, the gap in his front teeth showing through his lips. Ezekiel laughed, looking between Hunter and Benoit as they discussed a match that he was involved in. Hall and Nash just stood there, not really taking in anything, just getting rather bored with being made to stand out there for so long. "So if he wins, you guys get him... If I win, I end up trying to get those..." He pointed at the dual titles on Hunter's shoulders. "So I guess I should probably watch my back tonight, then."

Hunter laughed, shaking his head, which left Hall and Nash looking rather surprised. "No, no, Chris. The match tonight will be totally on the level – well, whether it's _totally_ on the level or not is up to you two, but my boys won't touch either of you for the duration of the match." The crowd cheered; the match coming up ahead of them was getting better by the second. Ezekiel, however, had something to say.

"Well, then... I guess I may as well just go ahead and enjoy the ride then, hey lads?" He grinned, then turned around and faced Hall and Nash. "Hey, thanks for not leaving me without a rib or two." With a nod towards the Outsiders, Ezekiel walked slowly out of the ring and climbed out, dropping down onto ringside and looking up at Benoit, who simply nodded and walked through the entryway in front of Ezekiel.

The nWo stood in the ring while Ezekiel's music played, grinning and nodding.

This _was_ shaping up to be a fun night.


	10. Smackdown! Readymade Conclusion?

"Ladies and gents, the following match is scheduled for one fall, and is for dual opportunities – one for a _no-disqualifications_ shot at the dual champion—stop laughing, assholes!" Hall told the rest of the skybox, grinning and taking a swig from the bottle in his hand. "I was serious! Well, at least, I hope I was," he added, twisting his neck to look at Hunter and wait for his confirmation. Hunter made the matches on RAW, and he was going to use this opportunity to the fullest.

"You're right," Hunter confirmed, nodding and leaning back against the counter as he looked out, through the glass down into the empty ring. "I talked to Vince a few minutes ago; it's down on paper and just needs the signatures. Of course, I don't expect you two to have to sign either, but the man's been getting a little cynical lately." He sighed and rested the beer next to him, taking care not to place it on the leather straps behind him.

Nash, sitting next to Hall, nodded and took a beer from the carpet next to the couch. "No offense, Hunter, but I don't think Vince is going to want confirmation from us," he called back over his shoulder, "And not from Batista, either – and we all know Benoit would never have to worry about our good friend X-Pac," he added, grinning and drinking before putting the bottle back down. "If he can catch this Ezekiel guy after the match, he's not going to care about us."

Raven had his say in the matter as well, leaning on the back of the couch to look out at the ring again, where the ring announcer was clearing his throat and getting ready to announce the next match. "Yeah, because we all know he could lay you two out without any trouble," he chimed in, casually patting them both on the shoulder. "Without any trouble, but with a sledgehammer," he corrected himself, pointing to the ring. "Come on, this match is actually important."

All attention turned to the ring – Chris Benoit was already out, with Shane giving him the preferred spot in the ring while his opponent entered. For more reasons than one, wrestlers liked to be able to see where the other man was; the first rule of sports entertainment applied everywhere, even in one-on-one situations. "Oh, and you two?" Hunter commented, pointing his fingers at the Outsiders, "_You_ are going to escort _me_ to the ring, where we shall watch the match from a better position. The rest of you, be ready."

He walked out of the room with the Outsiders following him, all three holding beers. It was going to be a very casual match.


	11. Smackdown! A Rabid Wolverine

"Twenty five, seventeen... Vennnnngeannnnceeee!"

The crowd hadn't seen Ezekiel in wrestling attire, or even come out 'properly', and so were relatively quiet when the lights went blue and centred on the entranceway. The entire stadium was almost silent as nothing happened for a second – and another second – and another second, before it was rocked by a huge burst of pyrotechnics from all around the TitanTron. The bright blue sparks dropped to the floor, throwing blue light onto a figure that had suddenly appeared in the entranceway: Ezekiel.

Obviously he'd hunted down another pair of sunglasses, as he was wearing them along with his leather trenchcoat. He took only a few steps, stopping once he'd reached the centre of the main platform, raising his head and looking around at the crowd before raising both arms above his head. It was surely going to become his signature pose, with his arms crossed at the wrists and thumbs holding the tips of his ring fingers.

He dropped his arms and began stalking down the ramp, ignoring the fans' screaming around him and the outstretched hands trying to grab onto his coat. Each step proclaimed that he was a man with an actual purpose, instead of just going to wrestle – he wanted in the nWo, and obviously he was going to stop at nothing to get it as he slid under the bottom rope. Ignoring the ref's hurried words to both wrestlers, he pulled off his sunglasses and tossed them into the crowd before shrugging off his coat and throwing it out of the ring.

"You ready, Benoit?" he asked, grinning as he revealed to the world what he wore when he was wrestling – the exact same thing as he wore otherwise; black leather pants (but not the sort that implied whipping, rather, the sort that implied he was cool enough to wear baggy leather jeans). "You haven't seen how big my balls are just yet." The grin changed into a smirk as he nodded at the referee, slapping his biceps as a sort of late warm-up.

The bell rang.

Nothing much happened for a few seconds as Benoit (a short, stocky Canadian) sized up his opponent (a tall, muscular American). The tattoo on Ezekiel's back was hidden from Benoit's view as they slowly walked around the ring, always keeping their eyes on each other and occasionally making threatening full-body jerks towards each other. The noise from the audience was slowly rising – one could almost feel the tension surround the two bodies in the ring.

Ezekiel suddenly broke the look of concentration on his face, grinning and suddenly bouncing off the ropes to clothesline Benoit. The crowd screamed as the match finally got under way, Benoit ducking Ezekiel's arm and using both feet to latch onto his and trip him up, sending his face into the mat. Both men rebounded quickly, jumping back up and staring at each other – now they knew their speed, but what about their strength?

There was only one way to find out: a good, old-fashioned showdown. Benoit stuck a hand out, waiting for Ezekiel to take it and accept his challenge. Ezekiel replied by sticking out both hands at the same time, gripping Benoit's and waiting to see if Benoit would respond with acceptance or a quick move. Luckily for both of them, depending on who you were cheering for, Benoit took up the challenge and began the test of strength.

They pushed against each other, each struggling for the upper hand – or, rather, Ezekiel already had the height advantage and Benoit was simply trying to push him back down to size. It wasn't a good sign that Benoit was visibly struggling, his muscles bulging, while Ezekiel simply stood and pushed back down onto him. There were a few muscles bulging where they shouldn't have been, but apart from that, he looked like he was in total control – until Benoit gave up and went for his speed.

He dropped, using his momentum to slide towards his opponent's feet and flip Ezekiel back-first onto the mat. The crowd jeered at Ezekiel as they both stood again, staring each other down without moving. It only took a second before Ezekiel's mind decided that it wasn't worth waiting and smacked Benoit on the face with an open right hand, knowing this was too important to risk the fist and possibly get disqualified.

Benoit replied in kind, sparking a pure fist fight until Ezekiel seemingly staggered back into the ropes, exploding back with a clothesline that knocked Benoit off his feet and onto his back. Benoit stayed down for the moment, looking up at the far-off roof while he tried to get some strength back into his body. He couldn't see why the crowd was cheering so much, but Ezekiel, who was turned towards the ramp, could.

Triple H, flanked by Scott Hall and Kevin Nash, was making his way down to the ring. He held a chair in his hands, but not the kind that could be used as a weapon – it was cushioned on the sweat and back, and he made use of that by setting up at ringside. Hall and Nash, not about to be stuck without furniture, went and fetched the two sets of steel steps, dropping them down to sit next to the Boss.

Ezekiel gave them a grin before being knocked in the back by Benoit, falling straight through the ropes and landing with a sickening thud on the concrete in front of the nWo. The three men looked down at him, blinking and not moving a muscle to help him as he winced and stood up slowly. "Boys," he grunted, grabbing a hold of the ropes and standing on the apron, turning around just in time to knee the oncoming Benoit in the stomach. As Benoit stumbled backwards, he climbed in through the middle rope, looking around for where the referee was.

He was behind Benoit, trying to see how Benoit was feeling – that suited Ezekiel just fine. He grinned and straightened up, giving the shorter man a wink before slamming a size 15 boot into Benoit's face. Benoit's head jerked as he fell backwards into the referee, who stumbled through the ropes on the other side of the ring and fell onto the floor in front of the Spanish announcer's table. The crowd booed, quite aware that this was a classic heel tactic and could only herald the coming of one thing – cheating.

Ezekiel laughed, resting back in the turnbuckle as he waited for Benoit to revive himself. The boys on the outside simply grinned and relaxed a little more, sipping a little beer and waiting for the next turn of events. They weren't disappointed as Ezekiel launched himself out of the corner and slammed his forearm into Benoit's face, even though that was a perfectly legal move. It was what came next that was illegal – a kick between the legs as Benoit twisted around. The crowd groaned in sympathy as Benoit doubled over, face contorted in pain for obvious reasons.

Performing a one-handed version of his entranceway pose, Ezekiel returned to his corner and waited for his opponent to get over the loss of the ability to reproduce. By the time Benoit was somewhat back to his usual state, the referee had crawled back into the ring and was looking around – he couldn't see the trace of any weapons, and that was always enough for any sports entertainment official. He gave the crowd an apologetic shrug before returning his gaze to the two competitors – Benoit was facing the same way as Ezekiel, his back to the man who was about to make his presence known.

As he slowly turned around, Ezekiel slowly broke into a grin and kicked him in the stomach, hoisting Benoit up and slinging the smaller man over his shoulder, wrapping an arm around Benoit's stomach (which was facing the ceiling). He bounced up and down for a few seconds, ramming Benoit's back repeatedly into his shoulder, his wide grin facing right into Benoit's unmoving head. The ref was unable to do anything but watch as Ezekiel completed the second half of his finisher – he wrapped his arms around Benoit's exposed neck and slung him off; not onto the canvas, but onto the turnbuckle, causing Benoit's body to bend sickeningly and the Benoit himself to bounce off and land on the canvas.

Ezekiel dropped to his knees, pressing his hands down onto Benoit's shoulders in an amazingly casual pin as he looked across at the nWo. The ref, albeit somewhat suspicious as to what happened, had no choice but to slap his hand on the canvas three times and call for the bell. The crowd couldn't help but cheer at a tremendous, if not entirely legal, debut for the young Ezekiel, who had pulled his hand away from the ref's and slipped out of the ring to stand in front of the nWo. "Well?"

Hall and Nash looked up, putting their empty bottles back on the concrete and grinning. "You're in, kid," the smaller Outside told them, grinning at Nash and standing. "Just don't get too cocky. No titles, no feuds, nothing above your station," he ordered him, picking up The Game's chair as the wrestler stood up to speak his piece about the newest member of the New World Order.

"Raw – you and Batista take on Benoit. We don't want him in the picture for a long while." Triple H flashed a grin before turning and walking up the ramp, the other three men following him up.

"Oh, and you get all the beer you can drink."


	12. RAW Jester's House of Fun

"This is the Jester, opening the doors to my House of Fun for all you children to run in and play to your sweet little hearts' content!" Raven's voice came from the speakers before he appeared in the flesh, sauntering out through the entranceway with a microphone in his hand as he talked to the crowd. He was one of the few wrestlers who wore individual costumes for normal entrances – a black leather biker jacket and a flannel shirt wrapped around his waist was all he needed, but it was still a costume. "But before you do, I'd like y--- no, I'm _telling_ you to welcome the Jester's fool, Jesse James!"

"Are to the Oh to the Ai to the Dee, Dee to the Oh to the only double-Gee! Roooooad Dogg!" His companion walked through the entranceway as well, grinning and strolling down to the ring alongside the Raven. "So, boys and girls, we got ourselves a new friend, don't we?" he asked rhetorically, walking up the steel steps slowly and looking around at the crowd for their reaction. The reaction was - who cared if they were heels, they were damn entertaining.

"Why yes we do, Jesse!" Raven replied, entering the ring behind his partner and dropping his belt to the canvas. "And what an interesting friend he is – why, it was in this very ring that he helped another friend of ours out." He grinned, waving an arm around the ring to make his point before turning to face Road Dogg, who had dropped his belt to the canvas as well and was busy admiring it for the crowd's benefit.

"Oh, yes it was." Jesse James looked up, grinning and picking up his belt again, holding it up above his head as a not-so-subtle reminder to the crowd that he was a damn sight better than anybody watching from a stadium seat. "So, ladies and gentlemen, and all you little children too," he added, nodding to a boy in the front row, "We'd like to introduce to you the newest member of our little association – Ezekiel!"

As his music played, Ezekiel stepped out in the entranceway to a blazing display of pyrotechnics – the lights were forever abandoned now, cast into the trashcan of debut gimmicks. Beside him, not to be outdone by any mere rookie, was The Game, dressed to kill in a casual suit. The Outsiders followed them – they may have been bitter as a result of being rejected for the new kid, but they were too smart to show the crowd that, let alone Triple H. The monster of nWo, Batista, brought up the rear with a customary scowl on his face.

All five men paused on the platform, fanning out for the hundreds of flashbulbs that went off in a split-second. Nobody wanted to miss this perfect photo opportunity – even though it was only five members of the New World Order, there was no way that there'd ever be a time with all seven like this, much less all seven not in wrestling attire. Soon the moment was over and they were making their way down to the ring, back into the two-two-one formation to fit onto the ramp.

Back in the ring, the New Age Outlaws were showing no sign of injury –two weeks is a long time in sports entertainment, even if it involves sledgehammers- and they were both resting on the ring ropes, watching the nWo enter. Soon all seven were gathered in the ring together, having gotten through with their posing, taunting and the general keep-earning that you got used to when you worked in 'the business'.

"As I'm sure you've all heard," The Game started after picking up a microphone from an assistant, "The New World Order has a new member. You've all seen him in action, and you can't deny that he could beat any of your pitiful asses from here to Australia and back again, without even breaking a sweat. You're privileged enough to get to see him again tonight, against the same man – but I promise you, this will be an even better performance than last week." He stopped for a few seconds, considering his next words as the other six men nodded and did the general underling thing. "You can't miss him – he's the one with the words 'next big thing' written all over his face. I give to you... Ezekiel!"

Hunter dropped back to allow Ezekiel more attention as he took the mic, grinning out at the crowd and letting their cheers –and, admittedly, boos- wash over him before speaking. "Thank you, Hunter. May I just point out what a great bunch of friends you have here," he began, nodding his head towards the nWo before continuing. "But what I'd really like to thank you for is the opportunity to show just how good I am. I'm no Triple H, no Batista – I might be an X-Pac, though," Ezekiel admitted, a slight smirk on his face as he shrugged. "But I'm still here. And you know why? Because I beat _Chris Benoit_, that's why. Because I took the Undertaker and Abel -the two most brutal forces in this business- out, that's why. Two things none of you could ever do and two things most of the children back in the locker-room couldn't do either. And that's enough to tell you that Chris Benoit, and anyone who stands in my way, has a very painful future."

"Amen, man, Amen," Shawn Michael's voice broke in through the air, even though the man himself was nowhere to be seen. "Now, I know you'll all be wondering just where I am – let me tell you, you have nothing to fear. Yet." The temperature in the ring had gone down a few degrees, with all seven men looking around the arena to see if they could spot Michaels – they couldn't, of course, but some inexplicable force made them keep going. "I just wanted Ezekiel and Batista – yes, you two," he added, a laugh in his voice as the two men struck two rather angry – and somewhat ridiculous – poses, "to know that you won't be having any trouble from me or two rather pissed-off brothers in your match tonight. Word of honour." Of course, for a man like Michaels it was hard to sound sincere at the best of times, and as for then... The word was 'bullshit artist'. "Take care."

The crowd cheered as Hunter –who had found another mic– and Ezekiel searched for words to reply to Shawn, although one could imagine that their expressions said it all. Ezekiel beat The Game. "Shawn, it's so good to have your word that you won't get your boys beaten again," he told the invisible man, "And I give you my word that I won't go hunting for you. That's best left to the professional, I think." He grinned at The Game, although inwardly he was marvelling at how long the men not speaking were able to appear amiable and agreeable – or, in Batista's case, mean and looking like he had the US title crammed up his candy ass.

"Thank you, Ezekiel, but I'm not the type to go out of my way for a man like Shawn – if he wants me, he can come and get me." As lame as that may have sounded coming from anyone else's lips, or as stupid as it may have looked on paper or a screen, somehow it sounded dominating and goddamn scary coming from Hunter Hearst Helmsley. As The Game's music kicked into life, the group of eight men gave one last look at the audience and climbed out of the ring, trailing out up the ramp.

Somewhere backstage, a Diva got bored and killed a kitten.


	13. RAW Rest In Peace, If You're Lucky

"This show isn't good for us," Hall muttered, kicking back on the couch and staring out the skybox at the Dudley Boyz, who were warming up the crowd for their upcoming match against –for the first time since Ezekiel had shown up- the New Age Outlaws. "I mean, all these leather seats can't be good for our posture, and as for the picture quality on this set..." He trailed off, taking a swig from his beer – no, that argument wouldn't be revived just yet.

"Oh, and here I was thinking that you were going to mention a certain two big, bad meanies," Nash replied, sighing and opting not to point out that Hall was in fact looking out a window, not staring at a television. "But then, I guess we don't have to worry about that. After all, Shawn did give us his word, and we can always trust Hunter's arch-enemy." Sarcasm was back, and Big Daddy Cool wasn't about to let it go unnoticed.

"Shut your mouth, Nash," Hall grumbled as the crowd was regretfully informed that due to a technical error, the following match would be delayed for a few extra minutes. "I was just trying to relax, and ignore the fact that we're sitting here, alone, when there are two rabid maniacs with sledgehammers roaming backstage – and with a grudge, if not against us specifically, then against our little band here."

Apparently a ring-post had been dinted by a particularly vicious –if misguided- Gore, and they'd only just noticed this now – well, either that or D-Von had put on a few extra pounds while he'd been out with injury. "Well, you could've kept your mouth shut about that a little longer," Nash told him, putting down the empty beer bottle and watching one ring-post require four roadies to carry. "Because now I suddenly remember just why I haven't wrestled for a month."

"Oh, you mean the quad? Let's face it, if it comes down to you wrestling _consistently_, you can kiss your career goodbye." The smaller Outsider laughed and fished in his pockets for a piece of paper – he actually kept his word, or at least his word concerning beer. "And here – before you even start on me about the beer, read this." He dropped the open note into Nash's lap with a smirk as he watched a new ring-post be installed – a lot harder than it sounded, thanks to the always-fun-to-deal-with ring-ropes.

"Damn, man! That's harsh." Nash whined as he pushed himself up from the leather, heading towards the icebox before fishing in it for two more bottles. "Your turn next, and you're not weaselling out of it for love or--" Nash stopped in the middle of his sentence as he looked up at the open door, wondering if he should yell or simply run back through the window and escape through the crowd. He was saved the decision by being slammed into the back of the couch.

"What th—ah, SHIT!" Hall turned around before yelling, having about two more seconds left of freedom before he was slammed in the face with a fist holding a sledgehammer's head. The Undertaker, looking thoroughly cramped alongside his arch-enemy (well, at least until a few weeks ago), let go of the sledgehammer and flexed his bare fingers as he looked down on the groaning Hall. Abel, meanwhile, had opted not to go soft on Nash and had most probably broken the man's cheekbone with the bare metal.

"Those ruled by the New World Order," the Dead Man intoned as he swung the sledgehammer into Hall's back after having kicked the couch through the window, "Do not deserve to rest in peace." The Outsider screamed as the Undertaker worked on an impressive golf swing along his spine. It was going to take a lot longer than two weeks for the Outsiders to heal up after this, if the Brothers and Shawn had their way – which, of course, they would.

"But we want to give you the opportunity anyway," Abel added, a slightly sadistic grin on his face as he practiced croquet on the back of Nash's neck before stopping and holding the hammer by the end of the handle, placing the head underfoot. "Because, if you hadn't noticed already - we're feeling very kind tonight." He laughed and raised his foot, pulling the hammer up with it before stamping on the side of Nash's head. Nash's reply was a groan, stifled by gasps of air.

As the two Brothers left their bloodied victims lying on the floor, one had to reflect on the unintended truth of Hall's comment – specifically, 'ah, SHIT!'.


End file.
